


Gathering Rose Buds

by fresne



Category: Shakespeare - Hamlet
Genre: Female Protagonist, Gen, Stream of Consciousness, Yuletide, challenge:Yuletide 2007, recipient:Melanie-Anne
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-20
Updated: 2006-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-09 20:23:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/91220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fresne/pseuds/fresne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She concentrated on the floor. On pulling petals from wild flowers, while her Papa had fed, would feed the worms, they go round and round.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gathering Rose Buds

**Author's Note:**

> The following inspiration for this work and inspiration for my dialogue, where I am not directly quoting, because apt quotes are cool: William Shakespeare's Hamlet

She concentrated on the floor. On pulling petals from wild flowers, while her Papa had fed, would feed the worms, they go round and round.

She crushed rosemary for remembrance and sniffed her fingers. She shred pansies for thoughts and watched their pattern as they fell. She idly chewed on fennel and columbine for rue. She poked the eyes from daisies.

She'd have ruminated on violets, but they had all withered and gone, or maybe there were no flowers, or maybe there would be flowers later.

She sat on the stony floor and pulled petals that she wasn't sure were there. She crouched in trailing rotting velvet skirts like a beautiful lady without mercy.

She blinked like a rabbit on the moon, like, like, oh, she didn't know. Something. She closed her eyes and wished she felt her Papa reach down and wrap his wide hand over her hidden skull. Wondered at Hamlet, her Hamlet to do such wild and wildering things.

She couldn't not listen to memory. Fire in her eyes, hummingbirds, and wayward flowers. Roses. Her heart was full of red and white roses, and thorns. Water. Lazy bell water scattered with flowers.

So, Ophelia sat and shredded flowers out of season. Ophelia rocked from side to side. Her long rotting dress slithered and dragged over the floor.

Ophelia was skipping over flagstones. Skipped to the chess set sitting grimy under the bust of the old king's head. Ophelia touched the black King. She was dusty. They hadn't played in a long time. Hamlet loved to play. Once.

She dusted off the black King and then the white Queen.

Then she spun out across the floor. The torches made her think rolly. She sang, "My pain for thee balm in my sight resembles." She leapt from the gray to the grey flagstone. "Thy black hair spread across my cheeks, the roses," she made a dizzy leap, "and the stars in the sky gone down resembles, for shame it blushed, it blood outright resembles." She fell to the ground laughing. "My weeping, Liege, the ocean's might resembles. Lest he seduce my dread and terror. That rival who Iblis in spite resembles. The stars gone nameless down." She lay back and made a dried flower angel on the floor.

Ophelia waved her hands and spun tracks of light with her seaming fingers. "Venus is feeling naughty. Her heart is all on fire. The Iblis resembles. And I still haven't bought my true love a present. I don't want the present."

She thought of cutting herself, but that would silly and sad and all kinds of stupid. Plus, they wouldn't let her near the knives right now.

Papa would find her and wake her up and that would be good. Miles to go before she should sleep. Gathering rose buds while she may.  


**Author's Note:**

> If after reading my fiction here, you would like to read more about me and my writing check out my profile.


End file.
